


Every Waking Moment

by duster



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Horror, Gaster is the Jerk of the Week™, Gen, Horror, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Someone Is Following You, You are Sans, goop, idk this is my first shot at smth spooky, only one swear i believe, suspense?, using some funky italics sorry if it messes with ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9346814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duster/pseuds/duster
Summary: there’s something tugging on your neck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to try my hand at spooky writing & second pov and ended up with this. partly inspired by [my own fanmix](https://8tracks.com/ryedela/twisted-regrets) on 8tracks that i was making and then thought "hey i should write smth about them." (haha self-plug)
> 
> (i know!!! im an asshat for updating irregularly/frickin never!! my only excuse is that depression sucks man. but y'know i still cant let go of undertale and i wanna beat up sans some more so who knows...)
> 
> also: the weird as heck italics were inspired by another who did it in their own undertale fic. i can't remember who wrote it though :// (shoutout to them tho for making an interesting way of Gaster speaking!!)

there’s something tugging on your neck. it feels heavy and burdensome; like someone is holding you under waves of water. you’ve been trying all day to ignore the feeling like it can be brushed aside and ignored. forgotten.

you parse your way through the crowd of people on the street in a desperate bid to get home quicker. home is safety. this anxiety that is tearing apart your focus will surely release once you step foot into the comfort and warmth of your home. you know you are only reassuring yourself in some worthless attempt to feel at peace with the situation, but you can’t find your usual apathy towards this problem. instead there is the feeling of being watched.

it doesn’t surprise you, really. paranoia was bound to show up at some point to be added to the plethora of issues you’ve accumulated over your life underground. though, you suppose paranoia is a less easily concealable problem. you put that in the back of your mind and focus on your footsteps as you approach the homey building that you and your found family have been occupying.

the place isn’t impressive or anything. it’s got its necessary amenities and looks normal from the outside. just a two-story home with four bedrooms and a big room for gatherings. you figure it’s a temporary home and aren’t quite settled in yet. (you aren’t sure whether you mean temporary as in you’ll be moving out or _forced_ out.)

you pride yourself on your ability to not fumble with your keys to open the door, but the pride lasts only a few short moments before you hastily shut the door and lock it behind you. as if that would keep whatever the lingering feeling of fear out.

at this point you go through your typical routine to try and settle into some kind of artificial calm. you pull off your larger coat and take the time to hang it on a hook for once. maybe Toriel will appreciate that. then you find your feet taking you to the kitchen. you grab your bottle of ketchup (one that is clearly labeled for him to avoid confusion) and place yourself on the couch. now that you are seated you are vividly aware of the fact that the weight has not left you.

you drink the ketchup, ignoring the shakiness of your hands. you carefully comb your mind for any hint as to where this came from. you haven’t had a history of anxiety in the past. well, at least not since you worked through some anxiety relating to your last real job. the one no one remembers.

the weight presses on you further. you let out an audible gasp and nearly drop your bottle of ketchup. no this is not anxiety; not like you’ve ever experienced before. this is far too tangible. you can feel the weight on your bones pressing into you. almost feel your bones creak and strain, inches from breaking.

you give up on the ketchup. it’s doing nothing for you now. you place it on the coffee table.

something touches your hand. you recoil instantly, releasing your hold on the ketchup and curling into yourself. you don’t pay attention to the mess on the floor. your pupils are already scanning the room for danger and you are seconds from sending bones through the air. but some small sane voice in your mind objects and you force your breathing into a steady rhythm. right. they’d all be upset if you put holes into their home for no reason.

you run a hand down your face and close your sockets. this is fucking insane. there’s nothing anywhere. you’re feeling phantom touches where there is obviously nothing. you need to sleep.

and that’s what you do. you pull your body off the couch and take one last glance at the spilled ketchup on the carpet in regret. you honestly can’t drag yourself into cleaning it up, though. you’d have to come up with some excuse and an apology for both Toriel and Papyrus. the clean team.

you focus your thoughts in on your family to distract you. the movements up the stairs and into your room are that much easier when you imagine the puns you can make about the mess.

_aw, you caught me red handed_ , you think to yourself with silent laughter. _should’ve guessed the cops would ketchup with me_.

you pull yourself into bed, forgoing blankets and removing your shoes in exhaustion. it’ll all be better after a few winks of sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

it isn’t.

the presence of _something_ has filled your dreams. you are wading in water except it’s black and sticky. you can feel it oozing through your bones and you shudder as you force yourself to continue.

continue to where? you don’t know where you are going but you _need_ to get there. you need to get there _before it’s too late_. or else they’ll _die_ and it’ll be all your-

you stop. your soul is pounding in your chest, like it’s warning you of something. you shake, bones rattling in some awful chorus expressing your fears to the void. your breath has left you. you can’t think. instead, you see memories – they must be memories…what else could they be? – of a lab. of coworkers and a boss. you know them, you know these people you worked with them before. but why…what’s missing? something’s missing something’s-

the black mass around you suddenly withdraws. it slides out of your way and through your bones and coalesces into a shifting clump before you. it writhes and bubbles and almost _breathes_. then it stills. you walk to the edge of the pool and kneel before it. you can’t even see your own reflection in its opaque surface. you reach out and touch it.

the moment your finger meets the dark mire your hand is pulled. it vanishes into the darkness before you and you panic, trying to pull your arm out but only getting your other limbs trapped as well. it pulls at you in a way it didn’t before, like you’re sinking in it when it clearly was resting on the floor. like a void has just suddenly opened up within the mirk and it’s absorbing you whole.

you shut your eyes and reach out with a flailing hand, hoping beyond all hope that someone will come for you-

the pulling eases as you grasp something firm and solid. you open your eyes and look through the sludge coating you and glimpse a face. white with dark, dark holes and cracks. a permanent smile holding your gaze.

I _T_ _HA_ S _B_ EEN _A_ _LO_ NG WHI _L_ E, _SAN_ S. it speaks but you more-so feel it. _A_ N _D_ _A_ F _T_ E _R_ A _L_ L _T_ HIS _T_ IME… _I_ H _A_ D _T_ H _OU_ GHT Y _O_ U _H_ AD F _O_ R _G_ O _T_ T _E_ N _M_ E.

you can’t speak, if you open your mouth the mire will seep into your skull. you can only look at the figure in desperation, unsure of what is going on but silently begging that they can help you.

_A_ H _,_ I _S_ E _E_. _H_ OW F _O_ O _L_ I _S_ H _O_ F _M_ E. they continue with a tilt of their head. _I_ S _U_ PPO _S_ E _I_ T _W_ AS T _O_ O _M_ UCH _T_ O _A_ SK F _O_ R _Y_ O _U_ R FEEB _L_ E _M_ I _N_ D _T_ O _R_ E _C_ A _L_ L _A_ M _E_ M _O_ R _Y_ O _F_ M _E_. they don’t let go of your hand but they don’t pull you up either. you feel the rest of your body strain with the grip of being pulled on either end. _P_ E _R_ H _A_ P _S_ I _W_ I _L_ L _H_ A _V_ E _T_ O _T_ E _A_ CH Y _O_ U _A_ LES _S_ O _N_.

their grip on you tightens suddenly, and you are lifted from the muck and raised to face the creature holding onto you. they tilt their head to the other side, making their odd unmoving face appear puppet-like. the hand holding you is not a hand, but a dripping mix of white and black that wraps around your arm with tendrils. a voice laughs, but the mouth does not move. the laughter echoes despite there being no walls and it fills your head, bouncing back and forth within your skull.

FR _I_ GHT _E_ NED? they demand, pulling you close to their white face with gaping holes. _G_ O _O_ D. _T_ H _I_ S _I_ S O _N_ LY T _H_ E BE _G_ I _N_ N _I_ N _G_ OF T _H_ E _R_ E _PE_ RCUS _S_ I _O_ NS Y _O_ U _S_ H _A_ LL S _E_ R _V_ E _F_ O _R_ A _L_ L _O_ F _Y_ O _U_ R SI _N_ S.

they pause and train their empty eyes on you. you are shaking, clammy with sweat, and all you can do is watch as thin tendrils burst from their arm and drip down onto your face. you shut your sockets, unwilling to watch as the slime slides down your face. you can feel it slowly seep into the corner of your eyes.

your eyes snap open against your will. the black ooze slips inside your socket. you can feel it dripping within your skull. you want to scream.

_B_ E _C_ ARE _F_ U _L_ , S _A_ N _S_. Y _O_ U _D_ ON’T _K_ N _O_ W _W_ H _O_ Y _O_ U’ _R_ E _D_ E _A_ L _I_ N _G_ W _I_ T _H_. they seethe in front of you. then, another string of slime that must be an arm, attaches to your skull and jerks it up. the creature looms forward. you can’t look away. _I_ T’ _S_ F _U_ N _N_ Y _I_ S _N_ ’T _I_ T? T _H_ E JU _D_ GE I _S_ F _I_ N _A_ L _L_ Y JU _D_ G _E_ D.

above your head the creature’s face starts to melt. the face that appeared as a mask becomes distorted, dripping down and forming one conglomeration of dark muck. you cry out as the slime collapses in on itself and your mouth and eyes are submerged in the inky sludge once more. there is nothing but empty darkness. you can’t feel your _body_ ; _you can’t feel anything_.

and yet still the voice follows: _C_ O _M_ E _N_ OW, _S_ A _N_ S. _Y_ O _U_ ’RE A _C_ O _M_ E _D_ I _A_ N. _W_ HY W _O_ N’T Y _O_ U _L_ A _U_ GH?

out of the darkness the white face grows. laughter rings out. you can make out the slated holes that form eyes and the curved and haunted smile. soon it is all you see. empty, voided eyes burning into you while being submerged in darkness.

I _H_ O _P_ E _Y_ O _U_ R _E_ V _E_ R _Y_ W _A_ K _I_ NG M _O_ M _E_ NTS B _E_ C _O_ ME H _E_ L _L_.

you scream out, only inviting more of the blackness into your mouth and you choke and choke on it as you fall, fall, fall into the void where nothing meets you except your sins and a ringing laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

you don’t awake with a scream, but with a desperate intake of air; as if you hadn’t realized you could breathe. you grasp at your limbs, pulling your arms into yourself and curling into a gasping mess.

you aren’t fully aware when someone enters your room, but you jerk violently when you feel a hand on your shoulder. the sensation feels foreign and overwhelming. everything feels overwhelming. you back yourself into the corner of your bed where it meets the wall with your head down in your knees. still reeling from the nightmare, you shut your eyes and count your breaths.

it takes two minutes to finally come down from the terror. when you come out of it, you notice the dip of the mattress that implies another body on the bed. it takes a while, but eventually you raise your head and look at your brother. he’s crying and it’s your fault.

hesitantly, he reaches out a hand and you grasp it in a flash, your clammy palm gripping onto his firm hand with more force than necessary. he takes that as consent before drawing you into a hug that has you sobbing once more. he doesn’t say anything, just lets you cry onto his shoulder, gripping his shirt between shaking phalanges. his hand rests on your skull and you can still feel the trail of slime as it seeps down your skull – but you flinch only slightly before burying yourself deeper into his embrace.

later, when you are side by side on your mattress and exhausted beyond all measure, he asks you if you are alright. you don’t know how to respond, so you don’t.

he abruptly straightens and turns to look at you face-to-face. a shiver trails up your spine and you try to make yourself smaller. he begins to speak but then pauses. you watch as his face scrunches up in confusion and he slowly raises his hand to your skull. your eyelights follow as he gently swipes a finger against the corner of your left eye socket. he retracts it and looks at his finger with a frown.

“brother, what is this black slime?”


End file.
